"It's not me I'm thinking of, Moria. Yes, you can take care of yourself. But you are a Keeper and unnecessary risk is still unnecessary."
"You think that sending me is unnecessary."
"Yes, I do. I've been quiet because you'll not appreciate my saying so, and because going along is what you'll want."
"I must go. Your father insists."
"That doesn't make it easier," he said softly.
She nodded. "You ought to go back to your quarters and prepare." A wry smile. "You'll be stuck with me soon enough."
His gaze met hers. "There is no one I'd rather be stuck with."
Moria tried to drop her eyes. She knew that's what she ought to do. Shyly look away. But it was all she could do not to move toward him, to take that first step herself, see if he'd reciprocate, if he'd reach out and--
"It grows late," Tyrus said, backing up. "You'll need to speak to Ashyn quickly. We depart at dawn, and my father brooks no delays."
SEVEN
Moria was gone. She'd mumbled something about possibly spending the evening with Tyrus but had said nothing more on the matter. Then, Ashyn had returned from the library to find their quarters empty and dark. There'd been a note.
I went out. Don't wait up.
That was it. Six words. Ashyn did not expect more. These days, even when Moria was in the room with her, she seemed not truly there--at least not as the brash, boisterous sister Ashyn knew. If their father were with them, he'd scarcely recognize Moria. Of course, if their father had been there, Moria would have less cause to be so unrecognizable.
They were orphans now. More than orphans--young women without a home or family, having only each other and an uncertain future. Life was not kind to those without kin. Ashyn knew better than to broach these fears with her sister. If Moria hadn't realized their predicament, Ashyn wouldn't add to her burden by telling her.
That burden was already great. Whatever Ashyn had gone through, it was a pale shadow of her sister's travails. Both had walked through their village after the massacre, but Ronan had protected Ashyn from catching more than glimpses of the horrors. Gavril had not shielded Moria--he'd known better than to try. Both girls had lost their father, but it was Moria who'd found him, possessed by a shadow stalker, and been forced to kill him to escape. Both girls had journeyed across the Wastes, separated from each other. Moria had faced down a thunder hawk--twice. Ashyn? She'd gotten a smattering of death worm venom on her skin, leaving burns so minor they'd all but vanished by the next day.
The worst of it, of course, was Gavril himself. Ashyn remembered seeing them fighting mercenaries together, back to back, and where before she'd always failed to comprehend beauty in battle, she'd seen it then, in her sister and Gavril. He was a true match for her matchless sister. Even if Moria refused to entertain thoughts of more than friendship, when Ashyn watched them together, it was like looking through a scrying glass and seeing the summers fly past, the two of them together, happily bickering and battling into old age.
Then came the revelation. The betrayal so incredible Ashyn's breath stopped even thinking of it. As difficult as it was for her, it was devastating for Moria. She had trusted Gavril. Defended him. It was as if he'd turned in battle and sunk his blade into her back.
Moria was broken, and as desperately as Ashyn wanted to be the one who put her back together, the only person whose company Moria accepted these days was Tyrus. A young man she'd met six days ago. Moria didn't discuss with him her father's death or the village slaughter or Gavril's betrayal, so there was no cause for jealousy. Yet Ashyn still felt those pangs.
She heard footfalls on the cobbled path outside. Tova rose first, going to the door. Ashyn slipped to the window. It was Moria and Daigo. With Tyrus. In the beginning, to her shame, she'd searched for darkness in him, almost hoping to see it--the devious bastard prince masking his ambitions under amicable smiles, manipulating the vulnerable young Keeper to his advantage. In a bard's tale, that was exactly what he'd be. In life, though? There was nothing dark in Tyrus. Nothing false.
She watched them, Tyrus whispering to Moria, his head bowed over hers as she pulled her cloak hood down to listen. He said something that made Moria smile and that dagger of jealousy dug deeper.
She only smiles for him.
Ashyn balled her fists. Stop that.
Moria said her good nights and headed inside. Tyrus watched her go. Even after she'd passed into her quarters, he stared after her before wrenching his gaze away and plodding off into the dark, none of the usual jaunt in his step.
"Good, you're still up," Moria said.
Ashyn watched as her sister swept in, kicking off her boots, sloughing her cloak, Daigo grumbling as it landed on him before sliding to the floor. And it was like being back in Edgewood, the old Moria sauntering in after an advent
ure.
"I have news," she said, and for perhaps the first time since Gavril's betrayal, she smiled at her sister.
Once Ashyn recovered from her heart palpitations--she couldn't believe Moria had been caught spying on the emperor--she calmed and listened. With every word Moria said, Ashyn felt like she was exhaling after holding her breath. While she'd never doubted that the emperor was doing something, she'd quietly shared her sister's opinion that it seemed too little. This news came as a relief. Until Moria told her who'd be the envoys.
"You and Tyrus?" Ashyn said. "While I logically follow his reasoning, it seems . . ."
Coldly logical. Like admitting he would sacrifice the children and the villagers to protect the empire. She understood it, but could not fathom making such a choice herself.